The street is my mattress,
Stones my headrest,
The wind covers my body
Even as I curl up
Like a foetus
In a womb.
Roadside lamps –
My aid to study,
With cops punching me
As they demand:
“What are you doing, buddy?”
I hear that the world is advancing
To what I wonder!
My old man is still begging on the road
Even as the globe
Sells poverty
